


Do you feel the same, my Charlemagne?

by ArcheaMajuar



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, Banter, Corvo Bianco (The Witcher), Geralt being under a spell, M/M, Post-Blood and Wine (The Witcher 3 DLC)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-23
Updated: 2019-10-23
Packaged: 2020-12-31 18:33:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21150284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArcheaMajuar/pseuds/ArcheaMajuar
Summary: “Vernon Roche!” he shouted while getting up and waving his sword above his head in an utterly theatrical gesture.Roche’s annoyed grimace returned to his face, however, this time he was, indeed, amused as the look at Geralt being so silly was just hilarious.“Geralt of Rivia,” he murmured, shaking his head disbelievingly, despite beaming with joy on the inside.





	Do you feel the same, my Charlemagne?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheMagician](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMagician/gifts), [Charlievh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Charlievh/gifts).
  * A translation of [Do you feel the same, my Charlemagne?](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19151029) by [ArcheaMajuar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArcheaMajuar/pseuds/ArcheaMajuar). 

> English is not my mother tongue as I'm from the Czech Republic. There are mistakes in the story, I know, but I just don't have anyone around to give me their feedback on the fic, grammar and so on (but if you'd like to let me know about the mistakes, please, do so in the comments or just send me an email (you find it on my profile page), it'd be much appreciated)
> 
> I'm really sorry for the errors, but I hope you'll enjoy this work anyway :)
> 
> The title comes from a song called Charlemagne by Blossoms which I was listening to while writing this story.

The sun was shining high up in the sky when the commander of the Blue Stripes spotted a homestead he was travelling to. He had spent several long days on the road already - two of them here in Toussaint where he found himself for the very first time, and despite the commander did not know much about romantic sceneries, he was able to tell that the principality was as picturesque as he heard of. In comparison to Temeria, the landscape of Toussaint was not blemished by wars and the economy was prospering regardless of the state the rest of the world was in. Maybe with the exception of Skellige. Maybe.

The Temerian’s horse sauntered towards the vineyard that was utterly alike the others the commander had passed by in Toussaint, however, this one was special as Vernon Roche had been invited to come here. He had been excited to visit Toussaint, but truth be told, with the length of the journey his enthusiasm ceased a bit together with Roche’s alertness, thought as he was getting closer to his destination, his heart was pounding violently inside his chest, his stomach turned upside down.

“Damn it,” he gritted through his teeth angrily as he was an out-and-out soldier, yet he could not remain calm while thinking of what could be awaiting him at the homestead.

Above all, he was looking forward to get some rest. The necessity of being on guard constantly, the intrigues, the plots he had orchestrated or even participated in, all the fights and wars, wounds, losses…

_It just tires one out_, he mused, and calming himself down as there was quite nothing he should be ashamed of. It had always been expected of him to save his Blue Stripes in every sticky situation, to defend them with his own body, to sacrifice for them when there seemed not to be any other option, and to fight alongside them with unrelenting fervour. For them, for his mates, for Temeria, and also in order to honour the memory of the late King Foltest.

However, the utterly worst and the most devastating thing about it was that Roche expected himself to follow all of the aforementioned without hesitation as well, but he realized his focus was not that persistent anymore, and his will to fight was not relenting, too. Soon or later, he was destined to disappoint his mates and his country, but before it could happen, the invitation to Corvo Bianco arrived.

He could have ignored it or declined out of many reasons, though the energy, spreading throughout his body upon reading the letter, he had not felt for years. At first disgusted by his reaction, disheartened even, he got mad about himself as something so futile revived his spirits, but the idea of free Temeria was left him numb.

In the end, he accepted, hoping some kind of respite would help him to sort his priorities again and to reconstruct him into the man Temeria deserved. So after a long journey, Vernon Roche stood in front of a gate, belonging to the vineyard named Corvo Bianco. As he was awaited here, he did not bother to make his presence particularly known, and he just nudged his horse forward and entered the homestead.

The smell of roses and hay, being so typical for Toussaint, was getting stronger with each step of Roche’s mount, and the clapping of horse’s hooves and the chirping of birds joined another sound Roche would have been able to distinguish any time.

_He’s here_, Roche thought excitedly while his stomach clenched a bit in the same way his throat did. He was not proud of his physical response, but the knowledge he was going to see him in a second…

Halting the horse, Roche gripped firmly on the reins, thinking whether he should continue on foot or not. After a while he reached a decision as he got down, threw the reins over the horse’s head, and lead the animal towards the sound that he guessed was caused by somebody sharpening a sword.

Because he knew all of his endeavours to remain unnoticed would be vain, he did not even try to reduce noises his movements produced. In the past he had attempted numerous times to creep upon the witcher without being discovered, but it was a hard pill to swallow for Roche that he had never succeeded, so now he just walked until his eyes laid upon the man with the smartest ears in the world.

Geralt of Rivia was sitting on a bench, located at the wall. Shining swords of various lengths were scattered around him, and also in his hand was a long sword which Geralt, at the first sight, was paying all of his attention to. He was making like he was not aware of his guest, though Roche’s experiences told him the witcher detected his presence minutes ago. Definitely he would have remained so calm and so absorbed in sharping the sword, gleaming brightly thanks to the red rune planted in it, if he had not recognized the visitor.

Roche simply savoured the sight of the witcher. For a few seconds he was standing there, ogling the man whom stoicism and composure emanated regularly from, but probably for the very first time Roche witnessed Geralt to be surrounded by such an idyllic atmosphere. The scent of roses and hay lingering in the air, gentle breeze wafting, birds chirping, and nearby the Geralt’s mare was grazing.

And the witcher himself?

Well, he seemed to be treating his swords out of whim, not out of immediate necessity. He was wearing no armour, no leather jacket, just a white shirt and leather pants, and his long white hair was hitched in a ponytail.

Judging from the smirk playing upon Geralt’s lips, Roche assumed the witcher was having fun, maybe he was laughing at him even. Roche grimaced as there were not many people who could annoy him so quickly, though deep within his soul Roche was glad nothing about Geralt had changed.

Moving towards Geralt once again, Roche saw the witcher narrowing his back and putting on an absolutely excited fake smile.

“Vernon Roche!” he shouted while getting up and waving his sword above his head in an utterly theatrical gesture.

Roche’s annoyed grimace returned to his face, however, this time he was, indeed, amused as the look at Geralt being so silly was just hilarious.

“Geralt of Rivia,” he murmured, shaking his head disbelievingly, despite beaming with joy on the inside.

The witcher let the sword down, laying it on the ground before he ventured closer to Roche. Vernon just tethered the horse, so the stubborn hack would not run for it, and suddenly he found out Geralt was standing a couple of meters away from him, expression relaxed, yet his catlike eyes were gleaming bright.

Roche extended his hand, squeezing Geralt’s forearm while the witcher did the same, but Roche noticed the mischievous smile that passed across his lips.

“I’ve been meaning to say I’m glad you’re all safe and sound, but… I’m getting an impression that the staid way of life has started to get better of your sanity,” proclaimed Roche after they exchanged greetings. “Or is it just Est Est?”

“So what? A retired witcher is forbidden to drink in his eternal solitude?” folded Geralt his arms on his chest. “Anyway, is there a better to way to distinguish whether the wine you’re growing is tasteful?”

“You’re growing your own wine, lone wolf?” asked Roche, unable to refrain from teasing Geralt about his ill-fated situation when there was no sorceress around to satisfy his needs because he certainly had satisfy their needs in the past.

“Um-hum,” Geralt hummed in affirmation, and the observant commander of the Blue Stripes discerned even in such laconic answer a hint of pettiness. “Would you like a glass, spy?”

“Well, I didn’t come here for a handful of grapes,” smirked Roche. “And I’m not a spy anymore, how many times do I have to repeat myself?”

“As you said, my brain is rottening, so I guess, that’s not the last time,” remarked Geralt, easing his arms down, which for a second granted him an impression of insecurity. “Come, I’ll pour you some wine inside,” he nudged his head towards the house.

Roche ignored Geralt’s comment as he happened to be almost fascinated by the witcher’s behaviour that did not change even once they entered the house. Welcoming the pleasant dimness of the interior, Roche braced his back against a table, looking around and judging the main room must have been used also as a dining room. With arms crossed on his chest he opted for waiting there for witcher to present him with whatever miracle of wine he was growing here. However, his waiting was kind of... pointless.

“What’s wrong? Haven’t you already slurped up everything, have you?” he growled, but he was far from being irritated when the witcher was taking his time with serving.

“No, but I’m sure I left a bottle right here… on the table…”

Witnessing Geralt in such a state of confusion, Roche was having a genuine amount of fun. The witcher probably needed to kill a monster or two to get his shit together, Roche assumed.

“Are you looking for something, sir?”

Roche watched as a peculiar person with peculiar glasses bobbed up from around the corner, looking complaisantly at Geralt.

“Oh, right, it is the bottle, isn’t it?”

As Geralt nodded, Roche had reached the conclusion regarding the witcher not only did he was the owner of this vineyard, but also a master of the vineyard with his own servants.

“I’ve taken the liberty of putting the bottle on the first step to the cellar, so it would be at your hand, and moreover, appropriately chilled,” the peculiar man bowed slightly. “Shall I bring it back, sir?”

“It’s alright, B. B.,” said Geralt, scratched his scalp and strode in the direction where probably the cellar was.

Roche just shook his head as the servant departed.

“What a time we’re living in. Geralt of Rivia isn’t on the Path, he isn’t slaughtering monsters anymore, and he isn’t sticking his curious nose in political matters… Instead of that he cultivates a piece of land and he lets others to call him sir,” was Roche deliberately mocking his friend who flashed him with a deliciously pissed look. “Just tell me that you’ve given the oath of celibacy and I’ll really start to doubt your mental health.”

The stubborn witcher plunged into silence while he was pouring the wine into a pair of glasses.

“I’ve already informed you I’m alone here,” he said under the breath, evoking the notion of being ashamed.

Of course, Roche was aware of the fact Geralt had told him so, but it was not the most believable thing in the world.

“Highly unlikely,” continued Roche in tickling the sleeping dragon. “Nor Triss neither Yennefer are warming up your bed? Not even the young healer you’ve got involved with in Oxenfurt? Not even-“

“For a man who wasn’t an eyewitness of these events you know significantly much,” snarled Geralt as he finally faced Roche, handing him a glass of wine.

“Your favourite bard is the one to blame as he’s lacking moral boundaries,” the commander of the Blue Stripes shrugged, utterly unfazed, accepting the offered glass, and then trying to evaluate the colour of the beverage, however, he could not say much about it due to the dimness of the room.

“Moral boundaries… He lacks any boundaries,” kept Geralt growling like a grumpy bear. “I’m going to stick his lute up his ass one day…”

“If you think it’d help,” Roche looked up to meet Geralt’s eyes. “Would you like to propose a toast to something, my lonely soul?”

“Certainly not to your unrelenting sense of humour,” the witcher snorted. “The world and I would be better off without it.”

“Yeah, like your sense of humour is a huge contribution to whole nations and Mother nature herself,” countered Roche, already slightly annoyed by the stagnating situation full of quite acerbic banter. He needed to calm the irritable witcher down at least a bit, so Roche went for easing his smirk into a mild smile, and he relaxed, his features and also the look in his eyes softened. Then he raised the glass.

“Why won’t we drink to the temporary end of your solitude?” he suggested, literally melting at the shift in Geralt’s expression as the corners of his lips curved upwards and his posture eased, not emanating tension anymore.

Roche wrote a mental note that loneliness appeared to be a rather painful topic for Geralt, however, it seemed surreal as he had spent uncountable days in solitude while being on the Path, surrounded merely by monsters and hoggish villagers.

“And to old friends,” Roche added after a while, but desperately trying not to elaborate on his urge to say it as he just felt obliged to verbally assure Geralt that he was glad to be here with him.

When he finally took a sip of the wine, he happened to be taken aback by its luscious taste, but the whole atmosphere and Geralt… It was leaving some bitterness at the back of his tongue, preventing Roche from savouring the wine to the fullest. Something disturbing was going on and the need to discover what was going on began to be insistent.

“So what do you think? Is it any good?”

“I’ve drunk worse,” said Roche, deliberately sounding as indifferent as it was possible, but anyway he finished up the rest of the wine and put the glass on the table. “Geralt… what…” Roche decided to proceed right to the merit of the thing, yet Geralt had something different on his mind.

“Keep your mouth shut for a moment,” requested Geralt not in the most polite manner, and on regular basis Roche would just call him a dick, but something about the witcher’s facial expression made him refrain from saying so. Folding his arms on his chest, Roche again braced his back with the table and looked at Geralt with expectation.

The witched walked away from him, probably musing over something, though Roche almost sensed like there was a sort of inner fight storming within his friend. It seemed to be solved the second Geralt halted and in a tired gesture he placed his hands of the back of a chair, his head hanging between his broad shoulders. Roche tilted his head, vehemently searching for a hint that would put him in the picture about why Geralt’s behaviour was so odd, but soon enough all of his thoughts faded away as the witcher asked him a question:

“Do you know why I’ve sent the letter?” His voice low, catlike eyes gazing intensely into Roche’s brown pair.

The commander of the Blue Stripes struggled to maintain his calm façade as the look that Geralt gave him was very familiar to Roche. Maybe too familiar.

“I guess I do,” he admitted.

“And do you understand why I invited you?” Although Geralt continued in the same quiet manner, Roche was able to distinguish every single word he uttered, his heartbeat increasing.

Arousal igniting in his stomach, Roche nodded. He had been waiting for so long… Not just waiting, looking forward to it.

“Yet, you’ve arrived,” straightened Geralt his back, the light coming from the fireplace illuminating only a part of his face, which was evoking a mysterious, even daunting impression. “The first man of Temeria left all of his duties behind, abandoned his beloved motherland and his men…”

“You don’t have to remind me of what I’ve failed in,” barked Roche in a warning tone, his blood boiling within his veins at the stabbing words. He bounced away from his place at the table, arms framing his body as he faced Geralt with his chip up, eyes sparkling. “I’m here and nothing; neither your rebukes nor your insults will make me change my mind. I’ve never been much into words as I’m the man of action.”

“But you require explanation, Roche,” doubted Geralt Roche’s statement. “I see how it’s eating you up on the inside that you don’t know…”

“You have no idea how much it’s riling me up,” said Roche sharply, before he relaxed a bit. “However, I’ve forgotten it’s so difficult to have a conversation with you. Certainly I can try to wring it out of you, or… or just wait for you to reveal it to me in time…”

Geralt advanced to Roche.

“I wasn’t aware Vernon Roche is capable of compromises,” twitched Geralt’s lips. “Since when have you acquired such diplomatic skills?”

“Apparently, you’re not the only one who underwent some changes in the past years,” answered Roche, undeterred, as the discussion started to wear him off, which also was the reason why he desisted from coaxing the explanation out of Geralt.

He hoped the witcher now would drop interest in coming up with wannabe smart remarks, and his optimism was right away fuelled by the fact Geralt approached him. Roche stood still, silently waiting for Geralt to act on his plan in case he had one, and in the end, the witcher caught him off guard.

“Have you made your mind about what you want?” asked Geralt gently, halting his movements only when his face was mere inches from Roche’s.

Roche fought an urge to inquire what the hell was wrong with Geralt, but somewhere deep within his soul he felt it was not the most convenient reaction, so he settled for spectating his friend as Geralt raised his hands in order to grasp a lappet of Roche’s chaperon, unravelling it foot by foot until the whole piece of fabric laid in his hands before it was placed on the table.

The gesture left Roche speechless. Flabbergasted, he was seriously wondering whether it was genuinely Geralt standing in front of him, but the witcher’s closeness and the want radiating from his features dispelled all of his thoughts, all doubts as he failed in maintaining his composure when Geralt brushed Roche’s hair. The touch seemed to Roche like a much needed one, like he was craving it for years without realizing it, his eyes fluttering as his head fell back in attempt to prolong the soothing caress.

“A barking dog on the outsider, but a love-seeking pup on the inside,” murmured the witcher quietly, yet Vernon managed to catch the words, feeling the endearment aimed right at his heart, embracing it in a more tender way than Geralt’s fingers caressed his hair. “But… from all the places in the world… why are you seeking it here?”

Blinking rapidly to focus on the reality, Roche weighed an option of snapping at Geralt, laughing his sentimental craps off, but after all, he was not a cold-hearted soldier as he might have perceived himself in these days with numerous battles on his back, with numerous scars and wounds marring his skin. Still, his chest was constricted with feelings in the very moment when the stakes were high.

“You’re the only one I’ve ever considered a friend,” the rawness of his voice contributed to the heaviness of the situation. “And the only one I’ve ever fully trusted.”

The pang of vulnerability made him uneasy as he was not used to revealing his inner thoughts. With his heart racing, he would comprehend if the witcher wanted to hurt him as this would the best opportunity to do so, yet Roche despite his suspicious nature did not spot any signs dishonesty within Geralt’s eyes. Quite the opposite because his expression hinted Geralt was satisfied with the answer. 

“Turn around, first door on the right,” navigated Geralt his friend who was quick on the draw, and while striding in the aforementioned direction, he pulled his golden chain with a symbol of Temeria over his head. Once in another room only did he managed to place it on the nearest pierce of furniture, Geralt finally resolved to show Roche why he had been invited to Corvo Bianco.

The commander of the Blue Striped found himself to be pinned to the wall, which together with a pair of hungry lips upon his own forced his breath out of his lungs.

_At least something hasn’t changed_, crossed Roche’s mind as his current position reminded him of the old times when the witcher was pressing him into the wall, his strong body preventing him from moving an inch, making Roche just accept the possessive kiss…

He felt so helpless, yet there was no intention of breaking free as Geralt was the only one who was allowed to treat him like this, and also the only one whom Roche wanted to treat him in such manner…

Soon enough Geralt left Roche stand at the wall, alone and breathless, as he stepped back, eyeing the former spy with a smirk playing upon his lips, and Vernon was glad his knees did not fail him because he was not far from sliding on the ground due to the witcher’s attention. He really was not proud of himself to react to Geralt’s dominance in this way, but he could not feel any shame as well. Recomposing his façade a bit, he ostentatiously ignored Geralt’s smug smile and proceeded to removing his clothes due to the room suddenly getting hellishly heated.

As soon as his torso was covered only in a thin layer of a white shirt, Roche spotted Geralt was a step ahead, sitting on the bed just in his trousers, however, the shit-eating grin he accidentally forgot to drop, too.

“Having fun, aren’t you?” barked Roche at him. He, indeed, cherished his uniform, though he had acknowledged in the past that the undressing process was utterly unnerving.

“Um-hum,” said Geralt laconically, which Roche felt an urge to punch the witcher for, though the idea evaporated from his head the second he noticed what Geralt’s look was fixed on. For a moment he pondered saying something or maybe smirking mildly, but then he rather opted for undertaking some action.

Advancing on Geralt, Roche got rid of his shirt, and once he was standing right next to the bed, Geralt moved further back, literally inviting his friend to join him in here. But Roche did not have time to just idly sit as Geralt grabbed him, drawing him closer and initiating another kiss, his fingers weaving into Roche’s hair. The commander of the Blue Stripes hummed contently, allowing Geralt to plunder his mouth and to push him down on his back.

The position Geralt got him in had devastating effects on Roche as after a few minutes the former spy was writhing underneath the witcher, pressing his sweat-covered skin into him, his heart pounding at the overwhelming feeling of helplessness. Once Geralt withdrew from him, he devoted some time only to enjoying the blown look in Roche’s hazed eyes, which provided Roche with opportunity to catch his breath and take in account the inner voice nagging him for revelling in being at Geralt’s mercy.

However, that was the point. Roche could not wait to transfer all the power into Geralt’s hands, he was trembling with anticipation to have Geralt hovering over his body, to feel his hard cock against his own, to be touched and teased… He would have even begged Geralt to do these things, but obviously it was not necessary.

The witcher did not want to waste any more time, so as he gave Roche’s erection a couple of strokes, he helped the other man to dispense of the last piece of clothes, and the Temerian groaned out as Geralt in the instant busied his digits in a place where Roche needed them most. He rested, being sure Geralt had something that would make his endeavours easier and smoother at hand, and moreover, he had no doubts Geralt was going to be gentle, avoiding any possibilities of causing Roche pain.

In the past, Roche might have been restless and quite annoyed at Geralt’s thoroughness, but now he was savouring each movement, each touch the witcher offered him, and he was almost purring under the ministration that were supposed to spread him and prepare him. Breath already laboured, though not out of pain or discomfort. He was moved by the tenderness in the caresses of Geralt’s hand, fondling his tights and stomach, skilfully coaxing his muscles to relax, and Roche sensed the gestures and the whole Geralt’s behaviour was successfully alleviating the tightness within his chest, constricted with feelings towards his dear witcher.

The feelings he had prohibited himself to show unless they were alone… like this, and once Geralt’s face was above Roche’s while he felt something pressing into him, he grabbed Geralt by his hair, clashing their mouths together – not because he was ashamed of the animalistic sound rippling through his throat, but to restrain himself from screaming words he was not sure Geralt’s ears needed to hear. For that he was kissing Geralt like his life depended on it and his heart was sent aflutter when the witcher answered him with equal hunger, equal urgency.

With one hand Geralt clutched on Roche’s side, with the other he braced himself while he finally pushed into the pliant body underneath him, and as Roche did not require any time to accommodate to him, he pulled out and thrust inside him once again, revelling in the tiny glottal sound his friend was producing, revelling in the heat and tightness of his passage. The pace of his hips swiftly sped up while Vernon was meeting his movements in the middle before his body magnanimously arched, throwing his head back as Geralt hit that magic spot within his ass.

Roche doubt there was anything better in the world than having sex with Geralt. The stretch, the fullness, the boiling desire, Geralt’s teeth sinking into Roche’s neck… His skin was glistening with sweat, his mouth gasping for air as every part of his body was burning with arousal, taking in Geralt’s length again and again as deep as he could. While the pace of Geralt’s hips was getting brutal, Roche realized he would not able to hold on for much longer. His fingers stopped digging into sheets, curling them around his own cock, pumping and in a span of a minute bringing himself over the edge.

His other hand buried in Geralt’s hair, Roche’s body went rigid under the witcher’s punishing thrusts, and with a low growl he came. Droplets of white liquid painted his palm as well as Geralt’s abdominal muscles which contracted. From half-closed eyelids, Roche watched Geralt’s expression. Although being utterly content and pleasantly tired, he still was relishing the hard presence of Geralt’s dick, and he gave a surprised whimper as the erection probed even deeper in the moment his friend climaxed.

Noticing Geralt’s attempt not to collapse right onto the other man, Roche solved his dilemma himself as he pulled Geralt down, embracing him and letting him to pin him to the bed. Vernon did not mind that the witcher was not exactly lightweight, he treasured it in fact, yet he did not protest when Geralt rolled onto his side, hugging Roche around his waist and… and simply holding him.

Words were not needed. Roche was perfectly fine with being hugged, but there was this suspicion concerning Geralt’s behaviour during the conversation and…

“It’s Ciri’s doing,” huffed Geralt suddenly.

“What?” Roche did not comprehend as he was not sure whether Geralt was referring to his demeanour in general or whether only to the fact they were literally cuddling.

“Well, Ciri was behind this all…” mumbled Geralt. “Mainly behind my supposedly odd behaviour.”

Finally, Roche understood what the topic of their current conversation was.

“Can you more specific?” he asked a bit acerbically, turning his head to face Geralt, lying next to him.

Roche was genuinely taken aback because Geralt sincerely answered, “She found out I was… missing… something… She forced me to send you a letter and then… then she put me under a spell. The Voice of heart… it was called… or something like that.”

Vernon remained silent, pondering everything he had heard.

“Only thanks to her stubbornness I was able to be less of a…”

“Less of an ass?” suggested Roche nonchalantly, deep down grateful for the young girl’s nature.

Geralt hummed in a sort of affirmation and Roche’s featured softened as a small smiled creped upon his usually curt lips, and he opted for closing his eyes, gentling with affection. His soul was overflowing with emotions for Geralt whom right away tightened their embrace.

“Stay at Corvo Bianco as long as you wish, Vern,” decided Geralt to speak up again, face now buried in Roche’s neck, yet his friend recognized his words easily, “Nobody is going to impair our peace here.”

“Not even one particularly annoying poet?” asked the former spy sceptically.

“No, not even him,” said Geralt resolutely. “If he puts his feet on my land, I’ll absolutely stick the lute of his up his very ass… It’d do a favour to other people who have been praying for it to happen for years anyway.”

Roche chuckled, mischievously imagining how remarkably such an act would pose within the legend of the illustrious White Wolf…


End file.
